Even though Russo took what he claimed without hesitation—ruthlessly, uncompromisingly—that was precisely what set me ablaze. His raw strength, his absolute control over my body, my reactions—it all brought me to life. Every movement made me shudder, every touch was an electric fire searing through my nerves. For the first time, I felt free. Free of expectations, of conventions, of the image the world had of me. I no longer had to be the good girl, no longer had to restrain or deny myself. With Russo, I could simply be.
And yet, he was the one holding the reins, leading me to my limits—and beyond. He was superior not because he dominated me, but because he understood me. Because he knew what I needed before I even realized it myself. And that was what bound me to him completely. This feeling of not just being taken, but being remolded by his touch.
He kept my face turned toward the mirror so I not only felt him moving inside me but watched it too. I saw him brace on his powerful thighs, tilt me forward slightly, and drive his thick cock into me in a relentless rhythm. Feeling it was one thing—but seeing it, watching my tits bounce with each brutal thrust, being so utterly at his mercy—sent me spiraling into ecstasy. The sharpslap of skin on skin filled the air, and I watched, mesmerized, as his length disappeared into me again and again. I didn’t even know where to focus anymore. Overwhelmed, I closed my eyes and surrendered completely to the sensations pulsing between my thighs. I arched into him, desperate for release.
He must have sensed I was nearing my limit. His thrusts turned faster, harder, driving us both toward the edge of madness. My orgasm built with an intensity I’d never known—my entire body trembled, my screams ripped free unchecked before I collapsed, boneless, in a haze of pleasure and fire. He followed moments later, spilling inside me with a rough groan before carefully lowering himself beside me.
My chest rose and fell heavily as I lay on the soft carpet, utterly drained by the raw intensity of what had just happened. My body felt leaden, my legs devoid of strength, a faint tremble coursing through my muscles. Each breath was deep, slowing only gradually, while my heart still hammered wildly in my ribcage.
I had never experienced anything close to this kind of unrestrained ferocity. Carter would never have touched me like this—even when I challenged or provoked him, he was always careful not to hurt me.
But it wasn’t about whether he hurt me. It was about how he saw me: someone to protect, something fragile he felt compelled to shelter. Deep down, I knew I was far from the delicate thing Carter believed me to be. I wanted to be pushed, to feel what it was like to hit my limits—and then go beyond them. Russo had driven me to the edge of pain, and that was exactly what I’d needed. Now I knew, with absolute certainty.
I tilted my head slightly and watched as he dragged a hand through his disheveled hair. His chest rose and fell just as heavily as mine, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling as if he were trying to steady himself.
"You’re already wrecking me," he rasped.
I huffed a quiet laugh, my lips curling into a tired smirk. "I doubt your dick hurts as much as my pussy."
His laughter was low and rough. I felt him shift toward me, his warmth closing the distance again, then he slung a leg and an arm over me—like he was making sure I wouldn’t try to leave. Amused, I cracked my eyes open and studied him from the corner of my vision. Possessive. Even now, when we were both spent and limp beside each other.
"I want you to remember me tomorrow. And the day after," he murmured, his breath skimming my shoulder.
I had no doubt I would. Exhausted, I rolled onto my back again. My strength had melted into a warm, heavy haze of satisfaction.
Russo propped himself up on an elbow, watching me with a glint of amusement in his eyes. His gaze trailed over me slowly, as if he were really seeing me for the first time—as if he’d just discovered me. I saw his lips twitch into a smirk.
"What?" I mumbled lazily.
He chuckled under his breath. "The control freak incarnate... and yet... so fucking depraved and wild."
I arched a brow, turning my head slightly toward him. "I’m still me."
"Mhm." His smile deepened, like he didn’t believe me.
"So, Alexander—"
"Alessandro." He rolled the name off his tongue, smooth and full-bodied.
I blinked, a soft laugh escaping me. "Alessandro?"
"Sì. I’m Italian."
I shifted to face him more fully. "So you are... but then why do you go by Alexander?"
He grimaced slightly, as if the answer were obvious. "Because you Americans butcher my real name so badly I can’t stand it."
Shaking my head, I studied him for a moment before sinking back into the carpet. "So, Alessandro..." I deliberately savoredhis name, mimicking his pronunciation. "What do you actually do when you’re not sabotaging meetings or stalking women?"
Before he could answer, I froze. A thought struck me out of nowhere.
"Wait—" I bolted upright, narrowing my eyes at him. "Did you sleep with that Valeria woman?"
He only smirked, as if my question didn’t surprise him in the slightest. His fingertips traced idle patterns over my arm while he watched me, visibly entertained by my reaction.
"What’s it to you?" he finally said, amused by my jealousy.
"You got my pussy," I continued. "You didn’t think that would come free."